Losing To Nightmares
by Bunnylass
Summary: One-shot. Side story to, 'Finding What Is Lost'. Gina Augustin is a strong willed, stubborn woman. But there's only so much even she can take when Caden's past demons strike her down with fear and threaten to tear them apart.


_**Disclaimer:**_ The Mediator belongs to Meg Cabot.

_**Rating: **_M – for mature, emotional angst content.

_**Summary: **_One-shot. Side story to, 'Finding What Is Lost'. Gina Augustin is a strong willed, stubborn woman. But there's only so much even she can take when Caden's past demons strike her down with fear and threaten to tear them apart.

_**A/N:**_ Hi all thank you for checking this story out. Just a little warning, it has physical abuse in this. I don't want to offend anyone, or for them to get the wrong idea. This is based around a character who is suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I've lived with someone who has this and it's no picnic; but more importantly they can't help it when they have flashbacks etc. So please, try and keep an open mind. :)

If you haven't read '_Finding What Is Lost_', it's not a big deal; this could probably standalone without that story. I'm just flexing my creativity and brushing away some of my own demons and unfortunately poor Gina and Caden are getting the brunt of it. Also, I've wanted to write this for ages. I'm going to be writing a long over-due chapter for '_Finding What Is Lost_' now, so keep your eyes peeled if you follow that story too. :) Reviews are love! x

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_**Losing To Nightmares  
**_

I heard him growl and suddenly I was wide awake.

It was like having an ice cold bucket of water suddenly be dumped on my head, my senses suddenly came alive, my alertness sharp and strong. One thought ran through my mind, quick on the heels of waking up, '_Get out, get out - get out_.' The natural response of fight or flight was intense and normally, with anyone else I would have stood my ground and stayed where I was. But it wasn't just anyone beside me, and it wasn't a normal situation, so I listened to my fear and took action.

With reflexes honed from experiencing this situation too many damn times already, I threw the covers back on the bed and leaped off the mattress, my eyesight instantly working in the dark room so I could run to my bedroom door as fast as possible. I might as well have had a crocodile snapping at my ankles, or the bogey monster trying to eat me alive, the way my heart was racing and thumping loudly in my chest to the point of pain. My fear was so strong; I could taste it on my tongue. It was bitter and dry and threatened to make me sick.

My bare feet were soundless as I rushed across the cool laminate floor; I was so desperate to reach the door in time, to reach freedom. But it was like trying to run through syrup; my legs just didn't seem to be moving fast enough. I could see the smooth wood of the door; see the brushed metal handle, my arm was outstretched for it, so close, _so close_. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears, my breaths coming thick and fast. I just needed to get to the door and get out of the room. I just needed a different room, a different place. I needed to get out, _I need to get out_!

But it was too late.

It's always too late.

My body slammed into the door hard. He used my own momentum to throw me against it, knocking the rest of my breath out of my lungs in a gust that left me winded and in pain from the impact - my ribs and chest ached like a bitch. But I didn't have a chance to catch my breath, because just as suddenly I was whipped around as fast as I hit the door and slammed back up against it again, the back of my head banging hard enough to make my head spin. My arms were pinned to my sides, his body pressed up against mine, chest to chest, knee to knee. I could feel every hard muscled part of him pressing into the soft curves of my body.

I took comfort from the fact he wasn't aroused, wasn't turned on by what he was doing to me. It made my fear subside a little.

Closing my eyes to his, I tried as hard as I could to relax my body, to not let any part of me tense up under his touch or grip. It would hurt so much more if I was; I figured that lesson quickly in the beginning of this never ending nightmare. It was so hard though, to not flinch as I felt his hot dry breath brush against the skin of my bare neck. The same breath from the same lips that only a couple of hours before had been tracing all over my body. I tried not to make a sound yet, it wasn't the right time. I had to pick the right moment to talk. That's another lesson I learned fast.

That and to not fight back.

I barely managed to control the shudder that ran through me at _that_ memory.

"_Where do you think you're going, scum_?" His deep, gravelly voice reverberated through my chest, making me lock my knees together before they gave out. "I didn't say you could leave yet." He pulled me away from the door enough just to slam be back up against it. The hard impact made me bite my lip, blood flooding my mouth as I gasped for breath again. I fought not to gag on the copper taste, almost whimpering from my sheer fear.

"Caden," I breathed, desperation coating my voice as much as I tried to keep it neutral.

I couldn't take anymore. I couldn't live with this; or _like_ this. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to not cry out next time, or tense up at his touch and words; or cry from pure frustration or fear. I've never been in a relationship that's been abusive. I've been lucky enough to see the signs and gotten the hell out of dodge as fast as possible. But then I guess this is a different kind of abuse. A different kind of control and possession that I just brushed aside again and again, believing it would get better. How could I be so wrong? When did I turn away from my own instincts?

I'm a strong woman, I know I am. I'll kick anyone's ass if they try and hurt me or anyone I love. But I can't fight back against Caden; he's too strong, too determined - too _trapped_ within his memories and mind.

It hasn't always been like this. When his nightmares and flashbacks first started it just used to be simple things, like crying out, "_Man down_!" or, "_Fall back_!" He warned me that he doesn't always sleep well because of his haunted past in the military. But he's not always been so . . . aggressive. He would throw himself around the bed, so completely lost to his own dreams that it took me a while to wake him up from them. I know they say that it can be dangerous, but there was no way I was going to just lay there and watch him tormenting him-self the way he was. I'd felt helpless enough already.

But then it changed.

One night, out of the blue I suddenly found him on top of me, pinning me down to the mattress with my hands pinned beside me again. I thought at first that he'd just woken up and wanted sex. But then I realized that his eyes weren't soft and playful like they normally are when that's what he wanted. And that my arms were starting to hurt where he had such a tight grip on them. I'd made my first mistake then by trying to talk to him. He growled in my face and told me to shut up before twisting my arm painfully and making me cry out. I was so shocked and mad that he was being so rough with me unprovoked, that I moved my leg to try and knee him in the groin, more than pissed off by that point.

But that was mistake number two.

Before I could get myself free he'd done some kind of move that found me having my leg twisted to a wrong angle, my upper body contorting painfully and just as suddenly unceremoniously dumped off my bed onto the floor in a heap of pain and fear. My scream must have snapped him out of it, because just as suddenly as it all began, he changed. His voice was softer, confused; his movements slower and sluggish. I crawled away from him, heading for the door and the light switch. As quick as I could I lunged up and filled the room with light, my heart racing in my chest. But he just sat on the edge of the bed, awareness suddenly coming back to him, with the memory of what he did.

I should have kicked him out then, but I didn't. I stupidly calmed myself down and _comforted_ him! He was so angry at himself, so sorry that it'd happened; so not able to even look me in the eye. We stayed up for the rest of the night, talking it through. He finally told me what it's like for him when that happens, how he feels like he's not in control of himself, just on the outside watching it happen, helplessly. I'd told him . . . I'd told him it was OK, that it didn't matter. But it did, deep down. I'd just buried it so deep that I didn't want to admit it. I couldn't.

Now - now I've had enough. Now I _know_ I can't take anymore.

I shouldn't have to.

"Caden, _please_," I whispered gently, licking my dry bloody lips as I slowly turned my head to be able to look him in the eye. I relaxed every part of my body so he could remember I'm not the threat in his nightmares. "It's me, Gina. You need to wake up, _please_ wake up." I coaxed, staring into his deep blue eyes, filled with anger and violence. So much raw, scary emotion in them it nearly left me breathless with pain. At first there was nothing in them that reminded me of the man I've been sharing my bed with. No sign of a gentleness I know he has, or humor or mischief. Just an uncomfortable blackness that reminds me that he was a man I would never have wanted to know when he was a soldier.

"Come back to me, Caden."

I repeated myself a few more times, gently drawing him back until I started to feel his grip on my wrists loosen and his body pull away from me enough that I didn't feel as trapped. I felt like I could finally breath again, but my chest ached. It was his eyes that told me I'd gotten through to him though. I could finally start to see the part of Caden that was making me fall a little for him - with something more potent . . . raw sadness. It was so strong and my emotions and adrenaline were so high that I couldn't stand to look at him anymore. I turned my face away, pulling my now free arms up to hug my upper body with comfort.

"Not again," I heard him mutter before he pulled away from me completely and nudged me out of the way of the door so he could escape through it. The bang of it closing made me jump and squeeze my eyes shut. A distant part of my mind hoped it'd woken Suze up because I just didn't want to be alone right then. I needed my best friend, even if it was completely out of character for me. But my heart sank when I remembered she wasn't here at all, she was off with Jesse and Alisa, visiting his family. I was alone in our apartment with only Caden.

I flicked the bedroom light on before racing across the room and flicking on my bedside lamp and then the one on Caden's side, making the room as bright as I could. It's like a routine for me now, whenever this happens. I opened all my curtains and windows until I could see the night and the ocean in the distance. Some part of me hoping that the light would chase away his demons and the gentle breeze flowing around the room take away all the heavy fear lingering in the air. Finally I sat down on the edge of my bed, tucking my shaking hands between my legs, forcing my breathing to steady.

That's where Caden found me sometime later, staring out of the window and the blackness beyond. I was half expecting it to be hammering with rain, the sky sparking with thunder and lightning; a mirror image to my emotions. My ears had faded to a dull roar, but I could still feel my adrenaline coursing through my veins, turning up a notch as Caden came to kneel in front of me, his hands hovering above my legs, too afraid to touch me. I knew I would flinch if he did. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back my reaction to him.

But I was also too afraid I would brush this incident aside along with all the others, hoping it wouldn't happen again, even knowing deep down it would.

I couldn't do it this time.

I couldn't take anymore.

I've never been afraid of anything . . . until now.

"Gina, I - " He started, his voice scratchy and faint. I could tell from those two words how frustrated he was with himself. I haven't known him to be the most vocal guy. He's always shown me what he wants to say. Apparently his vivid, flashback nightmares are no different. His actions are far more terrifying than his words. "I'm sorry," He bowed his head, his hovering hands turning into fists as he leaned down on them, his shaggy brown hair a mess of tufts. I knew without asking that he'd been running his hands through it, tugging and pulling.

Despite my own feelings, his apology made me want to reach out for him, comfort him the only way a woman could. I wanted to pull him towards me and hold him, have the power to boost his confidence, tell him it would all be OK. I like having that power, the one that showed just how weak men can be when it comes to a woman. But his actions here tonight have taken the last traces of that power away from me. Because now I just feel like a broken down, weak shell of the woman I was before these literal and figurative nightmares began. He took that away from me - took away my confidence, my belief in myself and my strength and stripped it away until I have nothing left.

Just shaky hands and a blood filled mouth.

Pulling my stare away from the window I looked down at the top of Cadens bowed head, then his tightly coiled shoulders, to his rock hard fists. So much strength running through his body, always carefully controlled when he's around me. But when he's asleep and he's in the throes of one of his nightmares, I get a taste, just a small dose of what that strength can do. He's made me terrified, even if he hasn't meant to.

Taking in a deep breath I voiced the one thought that has been running back and forth through my head on an endless loop, since I felt the first impact of my body slamming into my bedroom door. "I can't do this anymore, Caden. I won't." I thought my voice was steady and firm, but when Caden raised his head and looked at me with such sad eyes, I knew it hadn't sounded like that. It probably sounded as broken and shaky as I felt. But he knew, I could tell that he knew I meant it. That he knew it was true as much as I did.

Me, Gina Augustin; the most independent, stubborn woman you'll ever meet, who never lets a man define her, or control her - finally given up - on Caden and on myself.

"Yeah . . ." was all he could say.

We both knew that all the half hearted offers of getting therapy and help that he's made in the past would only make this OK for a short time. That he wouldn't look for any help with his post traumatic stress; we would forget about it, believe that we're strong enough together to over-come it. We'd have a short break where everything is great, we have fun, we're indestructible because that was only one night, and when you look back at it, you think it wasn't as bad as it seemed at the time. But what I didn't see is how much it's actually chipping away at my character; my confidence. How I jump when he laughs a bit too loud, or his eyes flash in anger when we're having an argument, when his grip is a little too tight and my breath hitches because for a split second I wonder if he's having a waking nightmare.

I didn't see all of those things until now. When I finally admit to myself that I don't have the strength to go the distance with this. That I don't have to. They're not my demons to deal with; the trauma isn't something I have to live with anymore. I don't have to be too scared to go to sleep in a dark room with him.

But even through all those thoughts I still hoped, deep down that he would say all the right things again. I wanted him to make me promises of changing and helping. I wanted him to fight and try for me. But he didn't. Without saying a word Caden got up from the floor and stood at his full, imposing height. I just continued to stare straight ahead, fixated on a small scar on his stomach, faded with time. I tried my hardest to not turn away or flinch when I feel his rough fingertips gently brush over my cheek. I didn't realize they were wet until his fingers wipe some tears away. Then he turns and walks out of the room and out of my life just like that. He doesn't tell me he's sorry again, doesn't tell me he cares about me, doesn't make some crack that he normally does. He just leaves an unending in my life that suddenly feels even more constricting than the fear he's brought out in me does.

I want to shout after him, asking if that's it, tell him to say something. But why should he? I realize. Why would he try and fight for us, when I've given up on him too?

I had to though, I tell myself as I slip to the floor. I had to because he was destroying me. And how am I supposed to help him, if I'm broken too? Falling to my side I curled up in a tight ball, hoping that when I go to sleep, my mind won't be filled with the angry face of Caden in the throes of a nightmare. Or worse, the eyes of someone who just had someone tear his heart out and hand it back to him like it was no big deal.

I just don't know anymore. Because I don't know _me_, anymore.


End file.
